


Revelry

by songs_of_the_moon



Series: Take Comfort Where You May [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songs_of_the_moon/pseuds/songs_of_the_moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their escape from the dungeons of the King of Mirkwood, Bilbo and Thorin find a moment alone. </p>
<p>Part of a series, but can be read alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelry

To say that the Men of Lake-town were pleased with the arrival of Thorin and his Company was to say that water was a little bit wet. The revelers seemed to care little how unlikely it was that the King Under the Mountain truly had returned—not that many of them were sober enough to realize it. Those that thought to question it, particularly the Master of Lake-town, were wary of the visitors, but feared that denouncing them would cause riots in the streets, so they held their tongues.

The visitors basked in the hospitality of the town, some taking every opportunity to flaunt their freedom to the irritated Wood Elves. Dwalin came very near to starting a fight on the fourth day of their stay, after which Thorin ordered his men to stop provoking the Elves, lest they be thrown out. They assented, despite their grumbling, though it did nothing to stay Fili and Kili’s cheeky laughter whenever they came across one of their pointy-eared adversaries.

Bilbo was particularly grateful that he no longer had to steal his food. He had long since lost his compunctions about swiping a morsel whenever he could during his time flitting about the Elvenking’s halls, which made sitting down to a proper meal all the more sweet.

That was how Thorin found him, sitting apart from a group of drunken, ebullient Men with a plate on his knees and a flagon—comically large compared to his small frame—beside him on the bench he had claimed. Thorin took a seat on his other side, grateful for the chance to escape the festivities, no matter how temporary the opportunity.

Bilbo made a sound that was surely meant to be a greeting, too engrossed in his meal to give proper salutations. They sat in companionable silence until Bilbo finished and set aside his plate in favor of taking up his flagon for a quick mouthful. He sat back and sighed contentedly.

“Good evening to you too,” Thorin chuckled. He swiped Bilbo’s ale and drained half of it before he realized its poor quality. No wonder Bilbo had drunk so little of it.

“And a fine evening it is,” Bilbo agreed. The air was cool, with only a suggestion of the biting cold that winter promised, and the sky was clear and the stars bright. The sounds of merriment could be heard throughout the town. “You have been busy, of late.” There was no real question in his tone, only a gentle curiosity.

“Aye. The Company demands much of my attention; it has been far too long since we have had a chance to partake in such festivities, and a few of our group required, shall we say, _reminders_ of how to behave properly.” Thorin shook his head at the memory of some of their wilder antics. More than a little alcohol had been involved in most of them. 

“It is lucky, then, that you have managed to find a free moment.” Bilbo smiled up at him, a quick, glancing look that caught his breath. All they had managed so far was short, furtive meetings in dark corners. Hands had wandered, but they had never had the time or the opportunity for more. But that look—oh, that look promised so much more.

“For you, there will always be a free moment,” Thorin assured him, voice low and rough.

Bilbo caught the change in tone. He met Thorin’s eyes and said, voice delicious with double-meaning, “I grow tired of these festivities. Perhaps a change of venue is in order?” He stood, never breaking Thorin’s gaze. In that moment, Thorin knew, he would have followed Bilbo anywhere.

“A most excellent idea.” He fought to keep his voice steady. “My quarters are more than satisfactory, if you wish to, ah, retire.”

“A most excellent idea,” Bilbo echoed with an impish grin.

Minutes later, they stumbled into the suite of rooms, clumsy with urgency. Bilbo’s mouth on Thorin’s throat—sharp teeth gentle against sensitive skin—elicited a low groan from the proud King Under the Mountain, and Bilbo relished the power to draw out such a sound. He allowed himself to be led backwards, towards the bed. They collapsed upon it in a heap of half-discarded clothing and eager hands and panting breaths.

“Being so near you,” Thorin breathed, “and being unable to touch you,” he paused to run his tongue along the shell of Bilbo’s ear, stopping to lightly nibble the delicate point, sending sparks shooting down the Hobbit’s spine, “has been torture.” He ran his hands down Bilbo’s sides, separated from his skin by only a single layer, the rest discarded carelessly on the floor. He struggled with the buttons, thwarted by the fact that they were clearly designed with much smaller fingers in mind. He finally managed to remove the offending article with only a few buttons lost, hindered in his task by the distraction of small, nimble hands touching every bit of him they could reach.

Thorin’s clothes were quick to follow and soon both wore nothing but their breeches. Bilbo looked up at Thorin, leaning over him almost possessively, and smiled, hoping to staunch the hesitation he saw growing in the other’s eyes. Thorin watched him for a moment, chest rising and falling rapidly with his quick, unsteady breaths, and asked, “Are you sure you wish to continue? If you have changed your mind—”

“Thorin,” Bilbo cut him off, “I would not have started this if I did not wish to finish it.” He put his hands on Thorin’s waist and pulled him closer. The muscles under his palms shifted with the movement and he wondered if Thorin’s warm skin tasted as good there as it did on his neck. “You say it has been torture for you. Why would it have been anything less for me?” He leaned up to catch Thorin’s mouth with his own and explore its wet heat. Thorin responded in kind, and the kiss became a slick slide of lips and tongues and sharp reminders of teeth.

Bilbo shifted, trying to gain better purchase against the silk sheets beneath him. His movements dragged his groin against Thorin’s and they groaned in unison. Thorin ground out something in Khuzdul and that deep, rough voice in his ear was intoxicating, though he neither knew nor cared what had been said.

“Tell me,” Thorin gasped, “tell me what you want. Anything. I’ll—ah, by Mahal, don’t _stop_ —I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

Bilbo looked up at him, pupils blown, eyes gone dark with lust. “Lay down,” he murmured. “On your back.” Thorin complied, laying back against the silk sheets and feather pillows, though he noticed not the opulence of his surroundings, drunk as he was with anticipation. His hair spilled round him like midnight and for a moment Bilbo resisted the urge to tangle his fingers in the satin strands and bury his face in Thorin’s neck to scrape his teeth against the sensitive skin behind his ear because it always made him moan and what if someone heard and then he realized that didn’t matter anymore, at least for the moment, and so he did it. 

The resulting moan took his breath away.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bilbo breathed and he wasn’t sure whether he’d said it aloud or merely thought it. He ran his hands across Thorin’s chest, tracing the dips and ridges of muscle, stopping to kiss each scar he came across. He could barely believe he had this, had a king spread out before him like a feast, sighing and groaning at his touch, when he himself was naught but a lowly Hobbit. “Off,” he insisted breathlessly, tugging at the laces of Thorin’s breeches.

The garment was soon discarded, forgotten on the floor. “And yours?” Thorin put his hand on Bilbo’s still-clothed hip, heavy and warm. 

“So impatient,” Bilbo murmured in response. His breeches had grown uncomfortably tight some time ago, but he had waited far too long to have Thorin naked before him to be overly-concerned with himself. “We have all night,” he reminded, tracing nonsense patterns on Thorin’s thighs.

Whatever answer Thorin might have given to that was lost in a wanton moan as Bilbo took him in his mouth. He arched into the welcoming heat, a guttural groan escaping him. Deft fingers found his balls, gentle and caressing, drawing more lust-filled sounds from his very core. One daring finger quested lower and pressed against him. He gasped out a desperate, choked sound that became a low moan when Bilbo did it again.

Bilbo drew back, licking his lips like he’d just enjoyed a fine meal. He looked Thorin over appreciatively, from his flushed face to his pebbled nipples to his glistening erection, wet with precum and Bilbo’s saliva, all the way down to his feet, pale and hairless but still lovely simply by virtue of being Thorin’s. For all that he’d accused Thorin of it, Bilbo himself was beginning to feel a bit impatient, desperate to have the skin-to-skin contact they’d so long been denied. He stripped off his own breeches in record time and tossed one leg across Thorin’s hips, straddling him.

The sound Thorin made when their cocks rubbed against each other was worth the wait. Bilbo rocked his hips experimentally and nearly came undone at the sensation. It had been far too long since he’d found release from any source, even his hand denied to him during his travels. He gripped Thorin by the shoulders to give himself more leverage and ground into him. The friction tore a groan from his lips, aided by Thorin’s answering movements.

They quickly found a rhythm, rocking together to the sound of their own labored breathing and racing hearts. Thorin held Bilbo pressed tight against him, panting into his pointed ear meaningless strings of Khuzdul interspersed with Westron curses. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Bilbo groaned. His mouth found the junction between neck and shoulder and bit. Thorin gave a strangled cry and gripped Bilbo’s ass even tighter in retaliation. Bilbo lapped and suckled at the mark he’d left. The added sensation was too much; Thorin came with a thunderous groan and Bilbo followed a few thrusts later.

Bilbo reluctantly rolled off his Dwarf to lie panting beside him. Their release was already beginning to dry, going sticky in the cool night air. Fastidious though he was, Bilbo had no desire to seek out something to clean up with. Neither did Thorin, if his limp body—more relaxed than Bilbo had ever seen him—and blissful expression were anything to go by.

_Fastidiousness be damned,_ Bilbo decided and curled into Thorin’s side. The king hummed appreciatively and pulled him even closer.


End file.
